


Functional

by bookwyrmling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Addiction is diferent for everyone, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Kent Parson Needs Therapy, Kent Parson is Not Okay, Sadly none to be found here, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 01:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: Kent Parson had his license suspended his first year with the Aces after being caught DUI with a .02 at the age of 18.Or: Kent Parson and his relationship with alcohol.





	Functional

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from Tumblr from forever and ever ago. Check Please and Kent Parson belong to Ngozi Ukazu.

Kent Parson had his license suspended his first year with the Aces after being caught DUI with a .02 at the age of 18. He had 48 hours community service, a $400 fine and had to attend DUI school and go to a round of AA meetings. He and the guys called bullshit on it because “I just moved from Quebec, where I’m legal. Now I can’t even celebrate my first NHL hatty with a beer?” But after a sounding from PR, he made sure not to let that happen again.

He used cabs or bummed rides from his teammates after that.

* * *

 

“Oh shit, I left my wallet somewhere,” Kent laughed as he pulled empty pockets inside out.

“Seriously, dude? How many have you had?”

“Light weight, eh?”

“Baby Parser’s hit his limit!”

Kent laughed at the chirps from the others as he called his bank to have his cards frozen.

“You’re cut off!” one of his teammates called and Kent pointed in that direction.

“Whoever said that is the asshole who’s driving the birthday boy home early,” he threatened, “Your mugs require alcohol to be around and this is finally fucking legal.” The group laughed and they paid for his drinks the rest of the night.

* * *

 

Kent always handed his phone over to Jeff after his third drink. Jeff made him ever since the first time he stumbled on Kent crying on the curb, drunk rambling about how Zimms wouldn’t even pick up when he called or reply to his texts. Jeff spent the rest of the night trying to comfort this kid and when it was clear Kent didn’t remember anything in the morning, promised to take the secrets he learned to the grave.

He still made Kent hand over the phone, though.

* * *

 

Kent was laughing, surrounded by women and men–some paying attention to him, some caught up in themselves, their partners and the beat of the club’s music–dancing and sweating and forgetting everything, when Jeff threw a hand on his shoulder and tore him out to the edge of the dance floor.

“HOW MANY HAVE YOU HAD?!” he shouted and Kent stared at him blankly until he shouted it again before laughing and holding up five fingers.

He couldn’t hear what Jeff said then, but he didn’t have to. He could see the swear on his lips and the way he shook his head with his hands on his hips.

“WHERE’S YOUR PHONE?!” he shouted directly into Kent’s ear and Kent patted around his pants until he pulled it out and dangled it in front of Jeff with a grin. Jeff tore it from his hands before Kent could pull it away and hide it behind his back like he’d been planning to, only to turn on the screen and curse.

“WHAT’S YOUR FUCKING PASSWORD, PARSER!!” Kent laughed his head off at how angry Jeff was acting and Jeff sighed and cursed again before grabbing Kent’s hand and going for the thumbprint unlock, instead. “YOU ASSHOLE, PR’S BEEN RINGING YOU LIKE CRAZY!” Jeff continued, “THEY’VE EVEN DRAGGED ME INTO IT NOW! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU POST?!!”

Kent leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand on Jeff’s shoulder before shouting back, “A LOT!” and laughing again as he began to shuffle his way onto the dance floor once more.

Jeff reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist before tugging him back next to him as he continued to tap at his phone with the other hand.  “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, PARSER. YOU CAN’T WRITE THIS SHIT. NOT RIGHT AFTER A POST ABOUT SKATING WITH THE KIDS!  ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!”  With a few final taps, the Instagram posts were deleted, though PR would have to work on their end about trying to cover it up. Likely, they would never fully disappear.

Kent was still grinning and swaying to the beat and his mouth grew into an impish smirk when Jeff finally pocketed the phone. “WANNA DANCE?” he asked as he began to tug them back to the dance floor, and Jeff had to grin at his audacity. Besides, PR would be giving Kent hell during his hangover tomorrow, which seemed punishment enough and, with Kent’s phone firmly in Jeff’s pocket, it was not like Kent could use it for anything stupid again, so he nodded his head and laughed and joined Kent back in the crowd.

* * *

 

Kent Parson had a well-stocked liquor cabinet at home. He didn’t have guests over too often–except for when he threw parties, in which case he locked the cabinet up because he bought enough liquor specifically for the occasion–but he did work his way through it on his own because when he was not out with the boys, living it up or playing hockey, he was firmly ensconced in his own apartment.  There was nothing quite like a drink or two or three on those days to draw the day to a close. And, on bad days or hard days, there was no one to judge him for getting pissed except for Kit.

Which…as brilliant and beautiful as Kit was, well, she was still a cat.

* * *

 

Kent moaned into his pillow at the loud ring tone and ground the heels of his hands into his temple. “Noooooo,” he whined, but forced himself to sit up and blink the worst of the crusty sleep out of his eyes. Jeff always called the day after the team went out for drinks if Kent got drunk to make sure he got up at a decent hour. Considering Kent couldn’t remember getting back home, he figured that was what this was. The phone stopped ringing as the call went to voicemail, but, moments later, started ringing again. Not Jeff, then. Jeff only ever called the once. He checked the top of his bedside table, searched through his blankets and dug through his bedside table’s drawers as the phone continued to jingle. He dropped to his knees and checked under his bed only to see it on his window ledge as he was getting back onto his feet. Whoever dropped him off must have set it there before leaving, because Kent usually just threw it or dropped it.

The phone had, once again, gone to voicemail by now but the caller seemed to be giving him a short reprieve–long enough for Kent to check the missed call notice and time and curse.

His mom chose that moment to call again and Kent almost threw the phone across the room in surprise before answering it with a groggy, “Hey, mom.” He winced at the sound of his voice and cleared his throat.

“Hi, Kent, honey, you usually call when you hit the airport, so I wanted to make sure everything was alright?”

Kent puffed his cheeks and ran one of his hands through greasy hair. “Yeah,” he said, giving his now greasy hand a disgusted grimace before throwing it up in the air as he began looking around for his laptop. He was going to have to pull this one off by the seat of his pants. “Sorry I didn’t call, just…the flight was cancelled?”

He found his laptop on the breakfast bar and ran to it, throwing it open and rubbing the trackpad to try to wake it up.

“Cancelled?” his mother asked.

“Yeah, yeah, bad weather over Atlanta, they said,” Kent grit his teeth, hoping it would fly, “Since that’s where my connector’s through…”

“I see…” his mother replied and he could even hear the frown.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for word for when they’ll be able to get me on another plane, which is why I didn’t call, sorry.” Kent tucked his phone between his shoulder and ear so he could stop chicken-pecking at the keyboard and search for a new flight to catch immediately.

“So you’ll still make it for your sister’s birthday, right? She was so excited you were going to make her 18th.”

“I promise I’ll be there, mom,” Kent nodded his head as he bought the ticket for the earliest arrival he could find. It was twice the price of the ticket he’d bought two weeks ago when he’d learned his schedule would allow for the trip, but the last thing Kent wanted to do was break this promise. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money.  If he didn’t use it to save his own ass, when would he?

“Anyway, I think they just called my name, mom, gotta go. I’ll call you with a new flight number and arrival time, promise,” he prattled as soon as the confirmation popped into his email, only just hearing an okay from her before hanging up and running for the bathroom.

He showered, dressed–luckily he had packed yesterday before going out with the guys–and ordered a lyft.

 _im gonna kill u for not calling me_ he sent to Jeff as he plopped into the Kia that pulled up in front of him. At least he only had a mild hangover. The aspirin had toned the headache down to mild enough to survive the Las Vegas sun so long as he kept his sunglasses on. Some gatorade and a greasy something from the airport should deal with the nausea.

“Hey mom,” he greeted once she picked up his call, “I’ll be landing close to midnight, so I’ll catch a cab, okay?”

“What are you talking about, sweetie, of course I’ll come pick you up. What’s the flight number?”

Kent paused for a moment, letting the guilt at keeping his mom up when he knew she slept early for work all because his drunk ass had slept in and missed his flight, before sighing and reading it off his confirmation email.

He stared out the tinted rear window as the strip crawled by and sighed, pressing his forehead against the window as hard as he could and sending a mental apology to his baby sister.

His phone chirped. _Srry. Trent caught the flu. Did u miss ur flight?_ Jeff had replied and Kent turned off the screen and threw his phone at his bag, not replying as the guilt gnawed at his gut. Maybe he’d just grab a drink or two at one of the bars, instead of a gatorade. Hair of the dog and all...

* * *

 

When asked about his drinking habits, Kent knows he’s okay because he knows what addiction looks like.  He had Jack to teach him that.  Jack couldn’t handle being without his meds or the alcohol and Kent always makes sure to never drink the day of a game.  He waves off the concerns of family and teammates and PR and his coaches, reminding them he only drinks at acceptable functions and times.  And there’s nothing wrong with that, right?  They frown.

Kent continues to fill the Aces’ record book and no one argues.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Kent Parson, as much as I seem to make him suffer in fic. I am just highly concerned about his storyline and well-being. Come scream about how much help he needs with me. CP Tumblr: rushingsnowy.


End file.
